Summary: a certain trash menace wonders Gotham. But what if the trash menace is a cute raccoon hybrid
Info: reader is a small raccoon child that is adopted by the Waynes.
Genre: funny fluff
Small chirps echo around the alleys, there stood a small raccoon hybrid child. With a cute round belly, raccoon eyes, and ears with a tail, who could hate this cutie?
This cutie has been around trashcans, ignoring the fact that they have a NICE and WEALTHY home with a family waiting for them.
As the child runs around the alleys on all fours before waddling over to a big trash can, they are grabbed by big rough hands.
“Caught ya!” Jason exclaimed with a wide smug grin. After all night patrolling around Gotham with the others, he was the one who caught you.
“No! No !!” The child whined, their lips formed into a pout as they tried to claw at Jason’s hands. “Nope. I got you, you trash menace.” Jason pressed the side of his helmet, connecting to the commutator link.
“Found Gotham’s local trash menace rummaging around some random alley.”
“Good. They’re grounded from crackers, luckily B didn’t find em or else they would’ve been grounded from even going outside.” Dick says on the other side.
The raccoon child was moving around rapidly a Jason moves across the roofs. “Y/n wants to go!!! Y/n needs… trash!!” The child yells in a warrior cry.
“Y/n needs a bedtime!” Jason yelled at the child who huffed, pouting while they looked away from their older brother.
Summary: You’re Vought’s dirty little secret. A Supe they couldn’t market. Too sneaky, too scrappy, too unpredictable to slap on a billboard. And he used to be Vought’s poster boy, embodying everything you weren’t. Something, something opposites attract, right?
Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, PWP (Plot? What Plot?), reader is AFAB, hate-sex (or at least antagonistic fucking), vaginal fingering, unprotected P in V sex (make safe decisions, friends), Soldier Boy being himself, femme nicknames (sweetheart, good girl), forced proximity, enemies to lovers, no use of Y/N
A/N: I gotta be up front about this. I have never watched The Boys. Everything I know about the show and Soldier Boy is what I’ve read in fanfic and bothered @jollyhunter and @maddie0101 about. I just wanted to write some smut and practice dirty talk, and I accidentally fell in love with this reader character. Huge shoutout to @jollyhunter, @my-stories-vault, and @bettystonewell for beta reading this for me and making sure I didn’t mess up SB too much 💜💜💜
Your plan had been perfect right up until he showed up.
The USB was warm in your pocket, full of blackmail. Dirty money trails. Recorded conversations. And one very incriminating signature on an illegal Supe enhancement contract. Three dead guards were cooling behind you, and one was left unconscious and zip-tied underneath a lab table. No alarms. No witnesses. Clean.
Just the way Vought liked it when they pretended you didn’t exist.
You had hoisted yourself halfway into the vent when none other than America’s Asshole stomped into the room looking like a goddamn war crime in spandex. There were no less than two undignified thuds of bodies hitting the ground before the entire office was bathed in red lights and alarms. You scowled, dropping down from the vent into the chaos.
And there he was, grinning from ear to ear like he hadn’t just set off every alert in the building.
“I had it handled, you fossilized fuckstick!” you hissed, glaring at him through the strobing red lights. The alarms were deafening, echoing off the walls like a death knell for your perfectly clean job. Why the fuck had Butcher saddled you with him? Tactical pairing, your ass.
“Keep it clean. Get in, get out. Minimal noise,” Butcher had said. So, clearly, the best decision was to drop the most volatile asshole in the country right on top of your exit strategy.
“What happened to my twenty minutes?”
“Had to speed things up,” Soldier Boy replied with an insufferable smirk. “Got bored waiting around while you played spy games.” You were pretty sure your eye twitched. Actually twitched at the sheer audacity of him.
“Speed things up? You set off the fucking lockdown protocol! The goal of this entire mission was to be subtle!”
“Being subtle’s for pussies. Could’ve had this mission done an hour ago if I’d been running point.”
“Yeah, well, congrats on turning a perfectly clean, covert operation into a goddamn light show,” you snapped before cursing under your breath and yanking a dead guard’s keycard from his belt. The sound of thundering boots drew closer. “Now we’re both fucked.” He scowled.
“Speak for yourself, sweetheart.” He adjusted his shield like it weighed nothing. “I don’t get fucked. I do the fucking.”
“Jesus Christ, can you not go five seconds without talking about your dick?” The footsteps were getting closer, and you could hear the radio chatter now, security coordinating a sweep. “Extraction’s burned now. We’re boxed in.”
“Then we fight our way out.”
“There are more options than just fighting and fucking. You might be bulletproof, but not all of us are made of Kevlar and bad decisions, dumbass.”
The vents were a no-go with the lockdown active, and standing here trading barbs with bargain-bin-Captain-America wasn’t exactly helping the situation. You ran through your mental map of the building. The windows were reinforced, so breaking through them wasn’t a great option. And even if you used the patriotic pain in your ass as a human wrecking ball, you were up on the twelfth floor, and you weren’t about to count on him to catch you on the way down. With a roll of your eyes and a half growl, you grabbed the front of his uniform with one hand and yanked him around the corner and into the nearest door with you.
He was a mountain of a man, and if he really didn’t want to go somewhere, there wasn’t anything you could’ve done to move him. But he let you shove him through the doorway without protest. The door slammed shut behind you both, and you immediately realized that you had made a mistake. This wasn’t an office or another lab like you had expected. On the floor above or below your current one, it would’ve been. But on this one, it was a supply closet. The kind that wasn’t meant for two people to be crammed into.
“Real fuckin’ tactical,” Soldier Boy muttered, his chest brushing against your shoulders as he shifted in the small space. “Your big escape plan is to hide behind some mops?”
“My big escape plan was to be gone before anyone knew I was here,” you hissed, pressing your ear against the door and listening. “But someone had to come in acting like he’s got the biggest dick to swing around.”
“I do have the biggest dick.” You rolled your eyes so hard that it almost hurt.
“Your ego really that fragile?”
“Nothin’ fragile about me, sweetheart,” he replied, his breath hot against your neck as he shifted closer in the confined space. The closet was barely big enough for a janitor and his supplies, let alone you and six feet of American propaganda.
The heavy footfalls of security personnel thundered past the door. You held your breath, pressing yourself against the door to try and put as much distance between your bodies as possible. Granted, it wasn’t much. His shield dug uncomfortably into your hip.
“Can you move that thing?” you whispered, gesturing to the shield before you remembered that you were in the dark. And while you had no problems seeing in low-light or dark environments, not everyone had that luxury.
“Which thing?” he asked, and you could hear the smirk in the darkness.
“Your shield, you narcissistic jackass.”
In an uncharacteristically kind gesture, he adjusted it as you asked but somehow ended up even closer to you, his chest now flush against your back. The heat of him seeped through your tactical gear, and you tried to ignore how solid he felt behind you. You strained to listen for any footsteps that weren’t drowned out by the wailing alarm.
“Hear that?” Soldier Boy murmured, his voice low enough that only you could hear it. “That’s the sound of your perfect little mission going to shit.”
“Because of you,” you whispered back harshly. “I was doing just fine before you came along.” You tried to shift away from him, but there was nowhere to go in the cramped space. The shelves dug into your side, and his body heat was becoming increasingly distracting.
“Sure you were, sweetheart.” His voice had dropped to a low rumble that you could feel vibrate through your back where he was pressed against you, and his tone was just condescending enough to raise your hackles. If you had to spend much longer in this closet with him, something was going to break. And you had the disconcerting feeling that it was going to be you. You tensed as another set of footsteps passed by the door, these ones slower and more methodical. A team leader, probably. You held your breath until they moved on.
“How long are we gonna play hide and seek in this closet?” he whispered against your ear, sending an involuntary shiver down your spine. “I’ve got places to be.”
“Feel free to leave anytime,” you said, unable to keep your irritation out of your voice. His responding laugh was barely audible, and you felt it as a soft exhale against your neck rather than hearing it. It sent an involuntary shiver through you. Soldier Boy noticed.
“And miss seeing you squirm? Not a chance.” You frowned and dug your elbow into a spot between his ribs. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even budge. All it earned you was a sore elbow and an infuriating smirk.
“I’m not squirming.”
“Yeah you are.” His hand came to rest on your hip, and you froze. “You’re doing it right now.”
The touch was casual. Almost dismissive. But it sent electricity up your spine regardless. You told yourself that it was just irritation. That every nerve ending was keyed up on adrenaline, and that’s why your breath caught. It definitely wasn’t the warm press of his palm through your tactical gear. Or how his fingers seemed to fit perfectly into the curve of your waist.
“Get your hand off me,” you growled, but there wasn’t as much bite in your voice that you had intended.
“Make me.” The challenge hung in the air between you, his breath hot against your ear. You swallowed hard and turned to face him in the dark, a mistake that only brought you chest to chest with him. His face was inches from yours. Close enough that you could make out the sharp line of his jaw even in the darkness. Close enough to see the way his eyes had adjusted to find yours.
“Careful what you wish for,” you grumbled, your hand instinctively moving to the knife at your thigh. Soldier Boy’s free hand caught your wrist before the blade cleared its sheath.
“Tsk, tsk. And here I thought we were just starting to get along.” His grip was firm but not painful, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a way that made your heart skip. You hated that he could probably feel it racing.
“I’m not here to get along.”
“No shit. You’re here to dig through trash and steal secrets.”
“And you’re here to fuck up my job and wave your dick around like it’s a goddamn flag.”
“Funny. Thought you liked the view,” he retorted. You yanked your wrist, but his grip was firm.
“I like my jobs clean. You’re a walking disaster.”
“Then stop looking at me like you want to crawl into the wreckage.”
You lifted your chin to lock glares with him. Something shifted in the air between you. The tension morphed from hostility to something equally as dangerous but far more primal. You were acutely aware of every point of contact between the two of you. His hand on your waist. His chest against yours. His thigh pressed between your legs. You had eyes and a morbid curiosity about whether a century’s worth of conquests had translated into anything useful between the sheets. Sure, he was a certified clusterfuck, but he looked like sin and talked like he’d invented it.
“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t,” you said, voice low and challenging. Soldier Boy’s chuckle rumbled through his chest, and his smile flashed white in the dark.
“‘Cause I’ll ruin you for any other motherfucker out there. And you’ll say thank you after.”
“Try me,” you breathed, the words slipping out against your better judgement.
The air between you crackled with electricity, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then, he released your wrist only to slide his hand up your arm and over your shoulder before finally coming to rest at the nape of your neck. His fingers tangled in your hair at the base of your neck, his grip firm but not painful.
“Last chance to back out,” he warned, surprising you with just how soft his voice had gone.
You should’ve pulled away. You should’ve scowled and pushed him away without a second thought and laughed at the chance to turn him down. You should’ve reminded him that you were professionals on a mission, not a pair of teenagers playing Seven Minutes in Heaven. But instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your hands resting flat against his chest,
“I don’t back down,” you murmured haughtily.
That was all the invitation he needed. His mouth crashed against yours, hard and demanding. All teeth and tongue and barely restrained hunger. You kissed him back with equal fervor, pouring all your frustration and anger into the press of your lips against his. It wasn’t gentle or romantic. It was a battle. It was about dominance. It was about proving a point.
You bit his lower lip hard enough that, if he were any regular person, you would’ve drawn blood. He growled against your mouth, pressing you harder against the door. His hands were everywhere – tangling in your hair, gripping your waist, and sliding beneath your tactical vest to find skin.
You fought back just as fiercely, yanking at his uniform and raking your nails over his shoulders. While you were by no means strong enough to even hope to leave marks on him, you were still going to try your damndest. He groaned against you, and the sound sent heat pooling low in your belly.
“Thought you had places to be,” you panted against his mouth as his hands found the zipper of your tactical vest.
“Changed my mind.” His voice was all gravel as he dragged the zipper down. “This seems more interesting.” You bit back a moan as his mouth moved to your now-exposed neck, his beard scraping roughly against your pulse point. The rational voice in your head made one last desperate attempt to remind you that this was insane, but it was silenced when his thigh pressed harder between your legs, creating a friction that made your head fall back against the door.
“I still hate you,” you whispered, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling hard enough that he had to feel it. He chuckled darkly against your skin.
“Good. Hate me harder.”
His lips were hot against yours again, rough and domineering in a way that sent electricity sparking down your spine. Your hands found the buckle of his belt and fumbled with it in the darkness while he worked at the fastenings of your pants. You gasped as he found bare skin, calloused fingers tracing patterns that made you arch against him. You could feel him, hard and heavy beneath his own uniform, the promise of what he could do to you making your pulse race faster beneath your skin.
“This is a terrible idea,” you breathed against his mouth, even as you pushed your hips into his touch. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your underwear, teasing along the edge before finally dipping lower to find you already wet for him.
“Fuck,” he growled, his forehead pressed against yours as he slipped one thick finger into you. “For someone who hates me, your body seems pretty fuckin’ happy to see me.”
“You’re too fucking full of yourself.”
“I think you’d rather be full of me.” He added a second finger and curled them in just the right way that had your eyes fluttering shut. “Look at you. Two fingers in this needy pussy and you’re a fuckin’ kitten.”
“You’re prettier when you shut the fuck up,” you hissed, though the words lost their bite as they slipped into a moan as his thumb circled your clit.
His knowing smile was wolfish in the dark as he curled his fingers in a way that would’ve had you whimpering if you weren’t trying to stay quiet. His fingers worked inside you with practiced precision, like he’d been studying your body for years instead of minutes. Each stroke, each curl of his fingers had you biting your lip to keep quiet. The closet was impossibly hot, the air thick with tension and desire. His breath was warm against your neck, and you could feel his hardness pressing against your thigh through his uniform.
“Fuck, you’re tight. Wonder if you can take all of me.”
“Fuck you,” you challenged, your voice barely above a whisper as his thumb continued drawing torturous circles around your clit.
“That’s the plan, sweetheart. But not until you come around my fingers first.”
Your breath caught in your throat as his thumb pressed harder against your clit, and his fingers pulsed against that sensitive spot inside you. The bastard knew exactly what he was doing, and you gripped his shoulders harder, digging into the fabric of his uniform as you fought to keep your knees from buckling beneath you. “That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, his voice a low rumble as he steadied you with his free hand. “Stop fighting and just fuckin’ take it.”
You wanted to snap back at him. To tell him exactly where he could shove his condescending tone, but all that came out was a breathy whimper as he shoved his fingers deeper. The rough fabric of his fingerless gloves scraped against your sensitive skin in a way that made your back arch involuntarily against the door. He hadn’t bothered to pull those off, and you were probably making a mess of them. Shit, why was that hot?
You dug your nails into his shoulder and barely kept yourself from crying out as his mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear. The last thing you needed was to alert security of your hiding spot because you couldn’t keep quiet while America’s biggest asshole finger-fucked you in a supply closet. The tension coiling in your belly was becoming unbearable, every nerve ending on fire as he worked you closer to the edge.
“Fuckin’ knew it,” he growled, his free hand sliding from your waist to your ass and squeezing hard enough to make you gasp. “Acting all high and mighty, but you want this just as bad as I do.”
“Shut up,” you hissed back. “Don’t ruin this by talking.” He chuckled, low and dark.
“Make me.”
You grabbed his face with both hands and crashed your lips against his. His fingers curled inside you in response, and you felt your knees give out beneath you. But he kept you upright without missing a beat. You moaned into his mouth, the sound swallowed by the kiss as the pressure built within you. The world narrowed down to just this – his fingers inside you, his mouth against yours, and the feeling of the solid door at your back.
When you came, it was with a shudder that ran through your entire body. Your walls clenched around his fingers, and you sank your teeth into his lower lip again to muffle your cry. He groaned against you, fingers still working you through your orgasm until you were left trembling.
“That’s it,” he murmured. “Good girl.”
“Don’t call me that,” you panted, even as a shiver ran through you at the words. His fingers slipped out of you, and you immediately missed the fullness of them.
“Why not? Sure sounded like one with my fingers stuffed in your cunt.” His voice was a low rumble as he brought his fingers to his mouth. You watched, transfixed, as he licked them clean with a groan that stoked the fire in you even higher. The alarm still blared outside the door, a distant reminder that you were still in danger. Still in the middle of a mission gone wrong. But all you could focus on was the way Soldier Boy was looking at you in the dim light. Like he wanted to devour you whole. Though, the satisfied smirk on his face still made you want to slap him.
“Are you done?” you asked, trying to sound bored even as anticipation raced through your veins. He gave you a predatory look.
“Not even close, sweetheart.”
Before you could muster up a response, he was turning you around, pressing your chest against the door. His hands were at your hips, yanking your pants down just enough to expose you to him. You heard the rustle of fabric behind you before you felt the solid heat of him against you, the head of his cock pressed to your entrance. He was thick and demanding, and you had to bite back a whimper at the feel of him.
“Still think you can handle me?” he asked, voice rough with restraint. You could feel the tension in his body behind you, the way he held himself back. You spared the briefest thought that he was being surprisingly considerate. Soldier Boy would’ve been the last person you expected to make sure he had active consent.
“Less talking, more–” Your words cut short in a sharp gasp as he pushed forward, sinking into you inch by inch in one smooth motion. He was bigger than you had expected, – you were never going to tell him that – and your jaw went slack at the stretch. Your fingers scrabbled against the smooth surface of the door as you adjusted to him, every nerve ending singing with the overwhelming sensation of being completely filled.
“Fuck,” he breathed, his grip on your hips tightening. “So fuckin’ tight.”
You bit your lip as he pulled back and thrust forward again, setting a rhythm that had your knees threatening to give out on you again. Each stroke filled you completely, the drag of him against your walls sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. A strangled sound escaped your throat before you could stop it, and one of his hands left your hip to cover your mouth, the two fingers that had been inside you pressing between your lips.
“Keep quiet,” he growled. “Unless you want them to find us like this? Want them to see you split open on my cock?” You could taste yourself on him, salty and musky, and it sent heat through you as you swirled your tongue around his fingers. He groaned at the sensation, his hips snapping forward harder. The rhythm he set was punishing, each thrust driving you against the door with enough force that you were sure anyone on the other side of it could hear it rattling.
“That’s it,” he muttered. “Knew you’d feel this good. Knew you’d clench around me like a desperate little slut.” You glared at the door in front of you and bit down on his fingers, silently promising retribution even as your body betrayed you by arching into his thrusts. His responding chuckle was dark as he pulled his fingers from your mouth and slid his hand down to grab your throat. Not enough to restrict your breathing, but firm enough to make his control clear. You hated how much you liked the possessive weight of his palm against your pulse.
“Careful,” he warned, his voice somewhere near your ear. “Keep biting me, and I might have to bite back.”
Before you could form a retort, his teeth found the junction of your neck and shoulder, scraping hard enough to drag a gasp from you. The hand at your throat tightened slightly, a wordless warning, as he sucked a mark into your skin that would definitely be sore long after this encounter was over. And with the location of it, you’d likely have to wear a high collar for days. The bastard probably knew it. You tried to squirm away from the mark he was leaving, but his grip was bruising. His relentless pace never faltered as he branded you.
“Asshole,” you managed to gasp out as he finally released your throat, his hand sliding down to cup your breast through your tactical gear. “You did that on purpose.”
“No shit,” he growled, squeezing your breast and pinching your nipple through the fabric. “Something to look at in the mirror and remember how I fucked you senseless.”
A sharp thrust made you gasp, your body trembling as you felt yourself building towards another climax. You wanted to hate how good it felt, but you still met each one of his thrusts with eager movements of your own. You shifted, breaking his rhythm just long enough to turn around to face him. His eyes met yours.
“Still giving me that look,” he chuckled darkly, finding his pace again. He gripped your thighs and lifted you against the door, and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist. “Like you’re not soaking my cock right now. Like you’re not about to come all over it.”
The position gave you better leverage, and you used it to your advantage, rolling your hips in a way that made his jaw clench. His grip on your thighs tightened, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave bruises.
“Fuck,” he hissed, his rhythm faltering for just a moment. You smirked at the crack in his composure.
“What’s wrong?” you breathed against his ear, deliberately clenching around him. “Thought you were supposed to be fucking me.”
His response was to slam you harder against the door, the sound echoing in the small space despite the wailing alarms. Soldier Boy clearly didn’t give a fuck about the guards outside, and at that exact moment, neither did you. One of his hands moved to brace himself, and he adjusted his other arm to support your weight better.
“Keep talking,” he rumbled. “See where it gets you.”
“I can’t wait to find out,” you replied with a challenging smirk, tightening your legs around his waist. His response was a particularly hard thrust that had your head falling against the door with a thud.
His rhythm grew more erratic, more desperate as he chased his own release. You could feel yourself tightening around him, the familiar tension building low in your belly. The closet was filled with the sounds of harsh breathing and the slick slide of skin against skin, barely masked by the noise outside.
“Touch yourself,” he commanded, voice rough with desire. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”
You didn’t need to be told twice. Your hand slipped between your bodies, finding your clit and circling it in just the way you liked. The dual sensation of his cock filling you and your fingers working your sensitive bud had you spiraling towards release faster than you had expected. The moment hit you like a truck, your orgasm crashing over you in waves that left you gasping against his shoulder. Your walls clenched around him rhythmically as pleasure coursed through every nerve ending, and you had to bite down on the fabric of his uniform to keep from crying out.
“That’s it,” he growled, his pace growing erratic as your body milked him. “Fuck, you feel good when you come.”
His own release followed moments later, a low groan rumbling through his chest as he buried himself deep inside you. You felt the warmth of him spilling in you, his grip on your thighs almost painful as he rode out his climax. For a moment, the only sound in the room was your ragged breathing.
Then, reality came crashing back as the alarms continued to blare outside of the room. You pushed against Soldier Boy’s chest, and he slowly let you down, your legs wobbly beneath you.
“That was…” you started but then stopped, unsure of how to finish the sentence.
“Fuckin’ incredible,” he finished for you, that insufferable smirk back on his face as he tucked himself back into his pants. You immediately wanted to punch him.
“I was going to say ‘stupid,’” you muttered, pulling your pants back up and trying to ignore the way your legs still trembled. The tactical vest came next, zipped up to hide the mark he’d left on your neck, and you could feel his eyes on you as you straightened your gear.
“Same thing.” He picked up his shield, the casual way he slung it over his arm making it clear that this was just another Tuesday for him. “You always this fun on missions?”
“Only when some geriatric asshole ruins my perfectly good plan.” You checked for the knife at your hip, grateful to have something to do with your hands that didn’t involve strangling him. The USB was still warm in your pocket, a reminder of the job that still needed to be finished.
The alarms had stopped, but you could still hear security teams moving through the building. You pressed your ear to the door again, listening for footsteps. The hallway sounded clear, but that didn’t mean it would stay that way. You held up a hand, signaling for Soldier Boy to stay quiet as you reached for the doorknob.
“We need to move,” you whispered, adjusting your gear. “Extraction point’s blown. There should be a service elevator at the end of the east corridor.”
“Got a better idea,” he said, reaching around you to open the door himself. “We go out the way I came in.”
“Which is?”
“The fuckin’ front door.”
And before you could protest, he was already stepping back out into the hallway, shield at the ready. You cursed under your breath and followed, knife drawn. He moved ahead with the swagger that you hated – all cockiness and broad shoulders. Like he hadn’t just fucked you in a janitor’s closet.
You readjusted your gear and forced your steps to be steadier than you felt. Tried not to think of the way his fingers had left bruises on your thighs. Tried not to think about the filthy little growl he’d made when he came. Tried not to think of the way your body clenched like it missed him already.
He glanced back at you once like he could feel you thinking too loud. Then, he smirked like he already knew every one of your thoughts.
You tightened your grip on your knife.
And you kept walking.
---
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I don't have an SB taglist, so I'm just tagging some of my moots I think would enjoy this. Who knows, might write him some more in the future. Lemme know if you don't wanna be tagged. No hard feelings :)
Infos : You're a raccoon. A real raccoon. That's it, that's the story.
TW : Rook, bad english, english isn't my first language.
You were a normal raccoon, well normal, you had the power to speak in human language and to be smart.
These were the only powers, the only magic, you had, so imagine your shock when you found yourself at the NRC, the Black Mirror choosing you to be a student.
“BUT I DIDN’T EVEN APPLY ?!” -Raccoon!Reader, when a confused Crowley explained the raccoon situation.
Grim was jealous.
You, a fucking raccoon whose only magic was human language and intelligence, had been chosen but not him ?! Jealousy.
Grim became your rival without being asked, literally trying to be better than you at everything, while you didn't even acknowledge his existence-
You are in Savanaclaw, the only real raccoon there is in Savanaclaw.
When Leona and Ruggie started their plan in Book 2, you knew about it too.
They didn't tell you about it, no, you just had heard everything one day.
"You know this can lead to serious problems ? Like broken limbs ?" -Raccoon!Reader, on Leona's bed.
“Well, the nurse- WTF ARE YOU DOING HERE, FUCKING THIEF ?!” -Leona not having seen you arrive.
He give you money in exchange of your silence.
You are known at the NRC for stealing anything and everything, from money to trash passing by student and teacher files.
You once stole Crowley's file thinking it was Crewel's... You are the only student who knows his age and his true identity (you say nothing in exchange for him turning a blind eye to the illegal things you do).
You didn't know who Malleus was before the NRC, the reason is simple : no one knows anything about magic in your origin little forest. Magic and anything related to it isn't really something animals care about, so you didn't know it before the NRC.
“Oh, child of, uh, raccoon ?” Malleus suggested, confused about what nickname to give you.
"Kits. A raccoon child is a kits." -Raccoon!Reader.
You were adopted by the Shroud the moment Idia realized that you were not afraid of him and that you saw Ortho as Ortho and not just a robot.
You let them pet you, especially if one of them (most often Idia) is stressed.
You are Idia's support animal and the reason for his occasional attendance at class IRL.
Every class where Idia goes IRL (which is 3 times a month since you've been here) you accompany him and let him caress/pet you.
Imagine the look on all the 3rd years' faces the first time they saw him go to flight class with you that very first time (it was also the first time of all year he go to a class IRL).
Headcanon that you and Rook had some sort of weird alliance that consisted of you giving each other information on all the students.
A scary duo.
Literally the hunter and the supposedly "prey" teaming up was something no one at the NRC expected. Even less that they give each other information about the students.
Crewel is the one who makes your clothes, whether those for classes or those to use in everyday life, because for him it's not because you are a raccoon that you are obliged to have no style.
Lilia 🤝 Raccoon!Reader : playing jokes on students who didn't ask for anything (especially Sebek).
I like to think that Raccoon!Reader would be friends with all the NRC ghosts, and that they would give him free food.
For Overblots where you have to fight, be aware that you will jump on the Overblotter's face each time unexpectedly. No one knows why you do this, not even you. Your only answer is always “instincts”.
And it's not even just with Overblotters, but with everyone who annoys you.
The nurse is fed up with you, that's canon.
The Black Mirror is maybe the only one (with the Shroud brothers) who doesn't regret having you at the NRC.
♡ raccoon is somewhat of a mean girl. she's been dealt an unfair hand her whole life and can't really be blamed to have lost faith in humanity.
♡ she grew up with a single mom and was basically raised by a number of boyfriends and other assholes that continuously came over to her house, while her mom drowned herself in substances and dick.
♡ raccoon is very self sufficient and actually went to community college for a few semesters before she decided it wasn't worth it.
♡ instead she's pursuing her dream of becoming a self-made rich bitch by entertaining an only fans while working her ass off on several jobs.
♡ raccoon plays dumb a lot because she sees no reason in fighting when she's dealing with assholes and dumbasses. she knows she's smarter anyway. it also makes live a lot easier to let some guys think your dumber than them. at least that's how she paid for her bike...
♡ raccoon has major mommy issues that she deals with by always throwing screaming matches with her mother. since she left college she had enough money left to move into her own small one bedroom apartment that overlooks the harbor, at least she's far away from her mom that way.
♡ raccoon doesn't have a strong moral compass. as long as something is convenient for her, she'll take it. consequences aren't something she really cares about too much.
inspired by the one and only @hrryp0thead i love raccoon!reader. can't wait to see what she'll get into.
not really a pogue because she goes to the kook academy but not really a kook because her parents business is on the cut.
she's bigger than than the other girls at school so the only attention she really got was from creepy older men. once she grew out of her awkward phase (she kept the raccoon hair) and traded the minecraft hoodie in for a mini skirt, she became the torturous image that most guys at the kook academy jerked off to.
how could they not? she's the image of femininity and softness when she wears a dress or a short skirt. thighs they could use as leverage while they plowed her into oblivion. skin just waiting to be marked and bruised. plush lips that would feel so good kissing them all over. but it's not like they would ever admit it.
it wasn't until rafe cameron started being sweet on her that she realized people had actually been paying attention to her. she knew rafe wasn't completely real with her, that he'd never call her his girlfriend. that he would never fight for her with the people most important to him when they inevitably said "she's a sweet girl but..." that doesn't mean she doesn't like the attention. no, she loves it. she knows what she's getting herself into.
this whole time, she doesn't realize that topper has been pining after her for years. topper doesn't realize it either. he's a nice guy. he never treats anyone from figure 8 terribly and until the whole drama with the pogues, he was trying to be civil with them. he tried to be cool with everyone which is why he couldn't understand why his stomach churned at the sight of her grinding on his best friend.
"i'm gonna get us a drink." rafe moves some hair from her ear and leans in close.
she leans back and looks at him with a smile. "okay."
as soon as rafe is gone, topper swoops in.
"hey, you." he stood behind her, close enough to feel her body heat but far enough not to come off as creepy.
it was a pleasant surprise when she danced her way closer to him. "hey topper." she was drunk already, cheeks all red and makeup slightly smudged. "what's up?"
he places his hands on the soft curve of her waist and leans into her ear. "don't do anything with rafe. he's using you."
it catches her completely off guard and now she's flushing with embarrassment and all the insecurities she had managed to push away before topper had it all come rushing back. "why're you saying that?"
"because he doesn't deserve you. i don't want to see you get hurt." as topper is saying this, he locks eyes with rafe across the floor. his grip on her tightens and he watches his hands sink into the flesh on her hips.
"that's nice and all topper but i don't care." she pushes herself away from him, temper starting to boil with help from the alcohol. she and rafe meet in the middle, exchange a few words and then he's leading her upstairs and the two aren't seen for the rest of the night.
topper goes and presses his ear against every door until he hears the sounds of her squealing and rafe grunting and skin smacking together as rafe fucks her silly. he could have stayed there all night just listening but people kept walking through the halls and he didn't want to look like a weirdo. still, he doesn't trust rafe with her and is making it his mission to get her away from him (so he can have her for himself).
so finally working on raccoon!reader, i apologise for this taking so goddamn long
I was wondering if you all wanted the point of view to be second or third (or first if you really want). I ask cause I started writing like the actual fic and started it in the second person, but it's just a lot of the word 'you' which makes sense, but I'm worried it'll make the writing annoying and too repetitive.
If you want it in third person, what place holder should I use for their name, I don't rlly like Y/N but if it's easiest then oh well, but I could do like [Reader] or even using something like [☆] to make it more interesting?
